Talk
by The Sugarfaerie
Summary: Because you need friends in prison, and it always began with conversation. LizAnnie slash. Slightly dark.


I thought the fandom needed a change from Velma/Roxie slash. Not that I have anything against that, mind. So _voila_, Liz/Annie.

All characters belong to their creators and various associates. I'm just borrowing them.

Talk 

The first time it happened, Liz was in a spectacularly bad mood and Annie was in a restless one. Rain lashed the windows so hard it was impossible to even see out of them, so the inmates' time in the outdoor exercise yard was cancelled, leaving Liz stir-crazy. She had been confined to her cell the previous day for throwing a lit match at Mona, which also meant that all her matchboxes were confiscated for a week. The brunette crouched on the staircase, drumming her fingers against the top railing while her left foot beat out an uneven rhythm against the metal. Everyone with even a scrap of sense was avoiding her like the plague, and they were right to do so. No one wanted to be near a bad tempered Liz. Not after what happened to Bernie.

Her position gave Liz a bird's eye view of the indoor yards, so she looked on as the other girls went about their business, smoking, reading magazines, playing cards and generally lethargic with boredom. She was watching Velma flick through a new issue of _Cosmopolitan _when a rustle and creak of iron announced someone sitting down next to her.

Liz turned to see a tall, handsome woman with a mane of glowing red hair. Annie. Well, at least it was someone Liz got along with, not like that brat Mona.

"Here," Annie said simply, holding out a lit cigarette. "Thought you might need it."

"Thanks." Liz placed the cigarette between her lips and took a long, slow drag.

"So," Annie continued, inhaling sharply on her own cigarette. "Thought 'bout what you're gonna do when you get out of this dump?"

Liz glanced at her incredulously, brows knitted. "I'm in 'ere for twenty goddamn years, Annie, y'really think I give that much thought?"

Annie looked unconvinced. "Oh, c'mon… don't tell me you don't think about it. Me, I'll get out of this city, go somewhere new. Los Angeles, maybe. New York. Open up a bar of my own once this stupid Prohibition law gets dropped, or go illegal. How 'bout you?"

"Nah, I had enough of bars," Liz murmured. In answer to Annie's questioning expression, Liz sighed and explained that she had been a barmaid. Once. In that other life. Annie nodded in understanding before dragging on her cigarette again.

"Do you ever think about Bernie?" the redhead asked. Did she ever shut up?

Liz shrugged, wishing she had matches to distract her. It was not as if talking about your crimes was unusual on Murderess Row. There was little else to talk about, and most were proud what they had done, Liz among them. But this question was a little different. "Nah, never," Liz replied lazily, pulling at a loose thread in her shapeless prison dress. "D'ya think 'bout Ezekiel?"

Annie returned the shrug and breathed out a large stream of smoke. "Not really. Sometimes. But then I remember what he did, and what I did, and I don't think about _him _anymore."

The two inmates laughed, long and dirty. Liz, starting to feel a bit more relaxed, leant her head between the railings and spat directly before Mona's feet as she passed below them. Bull's eye. Annie threw her head back and laughed loud and freely until one of the wardens told her to quit it. Mona looked up, glowering, but knew better than to provoke Liz a second time.

Annie made a face at the warden's back and then turned her attention back to the conversation. "Was the sex good at least? With you and Bernie?" she inquired with such a brazen attitude that Liz's head snapped up in surprise. No one had asked that one before.

The brunette took a final breath of smoke and then crushed the remains of the cigarette under her shoe. "Wasn't too bad," she admitted vaguely. "He was piss drunk most of the time."

"And you, too?"

"Sure. What 'bout Ezekiel?"

Annie pressed her lips together knowingly and scooted closer to Liz in order to let the Hart kid pass. The champagne blonde shot them both a weary look.

"I can't get through there," she breathed nervously, motioning towards the tiny gap beside Annie.

Annie smirked. "Fine. Shove, Liz." Liz shifted aside slightly and Annie slid up against her, leaving enough room for Roxie to reach the next stair. She did not return to her original position, but stayed there, pressed against Liz's side. Liz pulled her skirt over her knees, but didn't push Annie away. She just couldn't. "Ezekiel," Annie prattled on as if there had been no interruption. "He was good. Could go all night. But then I guess he had practice," she finished bitterly. "Six wives… at least Bernie didn't cheat on you."

"Yeah, I guess," Liz answered uncomfortably. She hadn't thought about it that way. Liz tried to remember Bernie before his brains were splattered across the carpet, but apart from the shooting her memory seemed clouded. Prison could do that to a person. She just remembered Bernie lying on the couch drinking and- "Poppin'!" Liz snarled violently, gripping the railing in sudden fury. "Drinkin' an' fuckin' poppin', that's all he fuckin' did all day…"

"Hey, hey," Annie interrupted soothingly; sounding not a little worried at Liz's outburst. She gently took Liz's hands and lifted them from the railing. "I didn't mean for you to think of that, Liz, really…" She sighed heavily, placing an arm about Liz's rigid, bony shoulders. "Look, he's dead. You're not. Right, you're in jail, and so am I, but we _will _get out one day, whereas Ezekiel got what was coming to him and Bernie…" Annie paused, smoothing Liz's sweaty tresses out of her face. "Bernie will never pop that gum again."

Liz cracked a slight smile at that. "He had it comin'," she giggled, repeating what almost every murderess in Chicago believed. "Ya pop that gum one more time…"

Annie quickly held a finger to Liz's lips. "Stop, Liz. Don't think 'bout it." She leaned so far forward that Liz was sure she was going to kiss her, but at the last moment she hesitated, flame coloured curls brushing Liz's cheeks.

"Oh, go on," Liz whispered nonchalantly. "I dare ya."

Annie needed no further encouragement. Without any more hesitation she crushed her mouth against Liz's, her lips seeming to be everywhere at once, and Liz could not help but respond in kind. It was need, desperation from months of imprisonment, and something else, something that took Liz a while to identify. Want. She wanted Annie. When had that happened? Had it always been there? Liz stopped questioning as Annie's weight, slight as it was, pushed her lower back gently over the edge of the next stair. Forgetting that a whole jail full of inmates lay below them, Liz grabbed Annie's collar and kissed her furiously.

A heavy boot on the stairs jolted them back to reality and they ripped apart guiltily. Matron Mama Morton stood before them, her expression showing that she was barely containing her laughter. "They all get desperate in jail, don't they?" she chuckled in her fruity voice. "Maybe you girls shouldn't have plugged your beaus, then you wouldn't need each other for kicks." She pointed towards Liz. "You, O'Shaughnessy. Sweeping. Now. And Fairchild," she continued, nodding at Annie. "Kitchen duty."

Annie groaned and got up off the stairs. "Kitchen. God almighty, Mama, that's as nearly as bad as laundry."

Mama continued up the stairs, stopping to slip a pack of cigarettes in Annie's pocket. Annie in turn handed her a couple of bills. "Stop complaining," Mama commanded, giving Annie a slap on the hip. "You're on laundry duty tomorrow. Mind you, you'll have O'Shaughnessy with you, so at least you'll have some fun." Mama winked and gave Liz a slap in passing as well.

Liz met Annie's hazel eyes briefly, but turned and brushed past her before the other woman could speak. It was just a kiss and nothing more. "O'Shaughnessy?" Annie yelled after her.

What did Annie want now? Oh. Liz shook her head. She meant her last name. "Parents were Irish," she called back. A little more information revealed.

The second time it happened, Liz had been the one to initiate it. It was almost impossible to have any privacy in prison, but Liz managed to give Annie a hungry kiss as they got their brooms out of storage for cleaning duty. Annie had been only too accommodating, even allowing herself to be backed against the wall, giving Liz the upper hand this time until they were interrupted by a chain smoking, swearing June telling them they were late.

"So ya not appealin'?" Liz asked Annie later on when they were sweeping the corridors.

"No," Annie answered, leaning on her broom. "Can't afford it. What's the use, anyway? It's not like I can plead self-defence, not after the way I went about killing Ezekiel. If I lost the appeal I might…" she broke off, not needing to continue. Liz had come very close to the gallows herself. "You didn't appeal either, did you?"

Liz kept her head down and began striking matches again. She could not remember exactly when she had picked up the habit. Probably around the same time that Bernie started popping his gum. "Couldn't afford it either. An' I couldn't go actin' like I was all ashamed of myself anymore. Had to do that at my trial." _And you might have gotten hanged. _The words kept nagging at her. _You could have swung._

Annie went back to her sweeping. "Think the Hunyak'll swing?"

Liz lit another match, watching the fire eat its way down the wood. "Probably."

"Is she innocent?"

Liz thought about the Hunyak's drawn, tear-stained face. "Yeah."

Liz began to feel calmer over the next few days. It was not to do with Annie; she was sure, as they weren't lovers. They never actively sought out each other's company, preferring to share the occasional kiss or touch in the odd moments when it was just the two of them, and even then they never talked about it, letting themselves be ruled by instinct alone. So they were certainly not lovers. Friends with perks, maybe. But Liz found that something was making her less irritable. She was still a short fuse and treated as such, but at least she wasn't locked in solitary every second day.

Mama noted the change in Liz's behaviour when the scrawny murderess began to eat regularly again. Ever since she was a child, Liz's appetite had been little to nonexistent, and in jail it just had gotten worse. She would spend days living on cigarettes and booze alone, a trend that made her look as if she was made entirely of bones, skin and sinew. Combined with her sack-like prison uniform and tangled brown hair she had the look of a mad woman. But lately Liz was eating at mealtimes, and even finished the whole meal on occasion. That was how Mama noticed.

"You eating again, Liz?" the black woman said with disbelief as she stopped behind Liz's place at dinner. "I thought we'd have to force-feed you." She leant forward and plucked the matchbox out of Liz's hands. "No matches at the table, O'Shaughnessy. You can get them back afterwards."

"Hey, Mama…" Liz protested angrily, getting up from the bench, but the matron pushed her roughly back into a sitting position.

"Oh no you don't," Mama warned. "Ain't twenty years enough for you?" The matron paused, watching as Liz commenced tapping her fingers against the tabletop. Her substitute obsession, Mama called it. She reached forward and ruffled Liz's hair. "What's wrong with that head of yours," she murmured before moving on.

Liz fixed her face in a fiery glare, daring the others to laugh. It was not the first time she had been suspected of insanity. The journalists at her trial seemed to think so, and even her attorney had seemed wary of her. Not to mention the rumours that circulated amongst the inmates of the other blocks. Was she really the crazed, frenzied killer she had been made out to be? There had never been glamorous articles in the papers about Elizabeth O'Shaughnessy, reformed sinner and devout Catholic. Not even the public would have believed it. That and she couldn't afford Billy Flynn.

Despite her apparent change for the better, Liz found that the murder came even more frequently into her thoughts. Before Annie's questions Liz had managed to push the image of Bernie's slaughtered corpse into the furthermost corner of her mind, concentrating instead on the poker games she played regularly with Annie, June and Velma, on methods of getting her latest pack of cigarettes and how to get out of laundry duty. But since Annie had asked about Bernie Liz started having nightmares again. The most vivid dreams had disappeared after three months or so, leaving only the occasional apparition that made Liz clench her fists in her sleep. Now the horrors returned.

For a while the nightmares only made Liz whimper and thrash, but then came a dream that made Liz remember everything. All that she had said to Bernie on that cursed night, the way he kept popping his gum and whipping her anger into a frenzy of madness until that strange moment of clarity when she lifted the shotgun off the wall. She recalled the smooth, cool shape of it in her hand, the terrible beauty. The sudden explosion of red across the wallpaper after she fired. Bernie falling to the floor. In the actual event, Liz had dropped the gun only to remain curiously devoid of emotion, studying the pattern of the blood spatters. The dream, however, drove Liz into a screaming fit that had wardens running from all directions and continued long after Liz had woken up.

"What the hell…" hissed Mama Morton as she rushed into Liz's cell. "Liz- no, don't go near her, I'll handle this."

Liz prided herself on being one of the toughest girls in Cook County Jail, but she forgot herself and shook violently as Mama held her, rocking her back and forth like a little girl. "There now," Mama said finally. "It's just a dream, honey. It was all a long time ago." She rubbed Liz's upper arm. "Want me to get Annie in here?" Mama asked quietly. "Just for a few minutes, mind."

Annie. The red haired poisoner must have woken up when Liz screamed; she was only one cell down. But how would that look? Liz could imagine the gossip: tough-as-nails Liz needed someone to hold onto at night. The prisoners could accept sex; it was common enough between girls with long sentences, but affection? Comfort? She would risk her reputation.

"I don't need her," Liz whispered hoarsely.

Mama got up and left Liz's cell. "Suit yourself."

In the morning only one of the prisoners dared to snicker in Liz's presence, and she gave up after Liz smashed her in the jaw. You didn't grow up in the slums of Chicago without knowing how to fight.

She didn't eat at breakfast.

The laundry room was almost entirely deserted when Liz entered it. Mona and the Hunyak had interviews with their attorneys, Velma was in Mama's office, Roxie mysteriously no longer did laundry and June was nowhere to be seen. So there was only Annie. The redhead looked up as Liz grabbed her basket, her face already damp from the sweltering heat of the boilers. "Hey, Liz."

Liz began sorting through some sheets, not so much as glancing in Annie's direction. She didn't want that humiliation. "Hey."

Annie came up next to her. "You okay?"

There was nowhere Liz could look but down. "Sure I am," she said roughly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Annie scoffed. "Oh, come _on, _Liz. You must have woken up the whole row last night." When Liz gave no response, Annie sighed with frustration and turned to lean against the table. "Jesus, Liz, it's all right not to like remembering things. I mean hey, I planned Ezekiel's death, and watched him die, but at least there wasn't any blood. _You_ lost control completely, from what I heard. Place must have been one hell of a mess. Can't say I blame you for not wanting to see it again."

Liz whipped around furiously. "It ain't the blood," she insisted. "An' I didn't lose control. It didn't happen the way they said. I…" Liz's mind told her to stop talking, to remember not to trust anyone, but her self-control failed her and she rambled on like a runaway train. "I remember everythin'. I remember what I said, an' what I did, an'…" Liz trembled, determined not to become hysterical. "I remember how I wanted it. An' how I'd do it again. I hated him, Annie. He didn't beat me; he wasn't cruel. Well, he called me a slut, but so did everyone. It was just… He pissed me off an' everythin' became clear, so I fired… An' I liked it."

It was out. She had finally admitted what earlier she couldn't even admit to herself. When she told other inmates about her crime she did so with a drawling, callous, detached tone to intimidate them, but she knew that most suspected her of killing Bernie in a momentary fit of madness brought on by rage. The truth was actually far closer to her retelling than they knew. Murder in cold blood. No crime of passion. Cool, controlled. She could have stopped herself at any moment. But she didn't.

"He had it comin'," Liz insisted. "But I could've stopped."

To her surprise, Annie came up next to her and kissed her cheek. "I could have stopped myself poisoning Ezekiel," she whispered. "But I never did. I wanted it. We all did." She smiled slightly, sliding her arms around Liz's waist. "So we all belong in the madhouse, really." She laughed. "This is jail. We're killers. No wonder we're so fucked up."

Liz brought her hand up to Annie's cheek. "God, Annie." She looked out for a guard, saw none, and kissed Annie violently. "Where is everyone?" she mumbled dizzily against Annie's jaw, running a hand through the waves of fiery hair she had always envied. Annie fumbled with Liz's dress.

"Paid them off," she said breathlessly, pressing kisses onto Liz's throat. "I owe June two packs of cigs. Said we needed to talk."

"Damn," Liz gasped, sliding onto the table. "An' I still owe her three from last time. We're gonna be broke at the end of this."

"Oh?" Annie returned seductively, leaning over her. "And when's that going to be?"

Liz grinned, pushing Bernie from her mind again. Maybe she really was insane. At least she would have company. "Well, it's twenty bloody years, Annie. That's a lot of talkin'."

"Do you regret anything? The murder?" 

"_No. Nothin'."_

"_Neither do I."_


End file.
